The Definition of Love
by hatsukoi-x
Summary: The question asked by many, yet answered by few. Barely escaping from an abusive relationship, Ichigo starts a new life, putting the past behind him. What happens when it all comes back to haunt you? In a life where nothing is what it seems, will Ichigo truly understand love? Rated M for future chapters.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Hey guys! This story's going to be different from what I usually write, and there wont be sex or anything like that anytime soon; this is because I would like to write a story that isn't based on sex, but has an actual plot. I'm going to take it slow with this story, and I'll slowly build it as it goes. I hope you guys enjoy reading, and I kind of got inspired from reading Vaerin7's stories. I love the way of writing, and how it just seems so natural. ^-^ Enjoy!**

**Chapter One**

Sometimes I wonder why I chose this path of life; but then I realize that I did it out of love. Love makes us do selfish things, and it makes us strong.

* * *

It was clichéd, we met in high school; I was his junior. He was 18, and I was 16; and when you're at that age, you'd start having crushes. That's exactly what happened to me, except that I like boys. I never told anyone, because society stereotypes gays as abnormal, and you would constantly get bullied and picked on, just because you were different.

I disagreed with the way society viewed such things; I could not comprehend why loving someone of the same sex was wrong. Love cannot be forced; it comes naturally. So why was it so wrong, then?

Being two years older than me, he was at his graduating year of high school. We used to hang out at his place; his parents were rich, and too busy to spend time with him. They were constantly overseas, leaving him to the caretakers. He lacked parental love, and attention, but I was in love with him.

I swore to just remain friends with him, because I saw how friendships were ruined; two best friends get "together" and then they break up a month later, it was all too common in high school.

On his graduating day, he told his friends he had plans, and brought me home, so it was just the two of us. We sat at the foot of his bed, leaning on the side of the mattress. His room was always clean, spacious but empty. He loved the color teal, which contrasted against his crimson red hair that he always tied up into a ponytail. He had tattoos, but they all just added to his masculinity.

He likes taiyaki, a fish-shaped pancake that's usually filled with sweet bean paste, and hates spicy food. He has a loud voice, and a matching personality. He's slightly taller than me, and has brown eyes. Like me, he has a constant scowl on his face, and hardly lets anything stop him from getting what he wants.

He asked me what I thought of best friends that fell in love, and I told him what I honestly felt, and that it was stupid. I said that friends should always remain friends, because it was not worth risking a friendship for a relationship in that sense. He looked at me with those warm brown eyes, and stared at me for what I felt was like an eternity, before ruffling my hair gently.

"The difference between friendship and love is how much you can hurt each other."

I would always remember what he said, before he placed those lips on mine. It was a life-changing moment, and as we parted, he smiled at me, and unlike his usual energetic self, he gently took my hands and told me that I was officially his.

He didn't use the term "boyfriend", but I knew well enough what it had meant. Words could not express the joy I felt, those butterflies that fluttered about, the buzzing in my head, much less my racing heart, all those feelings, that must have been what love felt like, right?

* * *

The next few months, I had to return to school, and he stopped schooling altogether. He said that with parents that rich, you could do anything you wanted, without a worry about your future. He bought a beach house by the sea, and it was relatively near school so he would sometimes fetch me.

School life was a bore, I could not concentrate on my work as I usually did, and my grades dropped terribly. I had no idea what kind of shady business my father was in to, and I never really cared.

My father was too busy with his business and he was not the type to be concerned over grades, but my twin brother, Shiro, knew something was wrong. After all, twins were always said to share the same mind. Shiro did not approach me about my constant late nights on the phone, or my horrible grades, he would just tell me that I could always go to him if I needed help.

Of course, I rejected him every time he said that, as a man, I had my pride too. I spent my weekends staying over at his place, always lying to my dad that it was a friend's birthday or something of the sort. He never questioned me anyway, he just let me go; I was 17, and independent enough.

The nights spent at his beach house were the best nights of my life, we spent the evening watching the sunset, and he would kiss me senseless. Then we'd lay on the bed, just looking into each other's eyes, and he would ask me about my day.

He never forced me into anything I did not want to do, and he told me that relationships should be taken slow.

* * *

I graduated the next year, with average grades, barely passing and I was devastated. I was not even eligible for college. Although my father had been disappointed, he quickly patted me on the back and reassured me, that he would still be proud of his son, no matter what.

The day I turned 18, we spent my birthday together at his house, and he told me that he would never let me go. He told me then, that he loved me. I asked him what he thought love meant, and he pushed me onto his bed, right then and there, and made love to me for the first time. When we were done, he looked at me and whispered, "That is love."

* * *

Two months later, he told me that his parents were coming back, and they had decided to stay with him for a few weeks. He was beyond elated, his parents never gave him priority, and always put work before him, but this time they made an effort to put him first, and he smiled; he genuinely smiled for the first time. It was different from the ones he gave me, I knew it deep down; and I was happy for him.

Then, it was all over the news. The tragedy that struck many households, families had lost their loved ones, brothers, sisters, best friends, _and parents. _He was not the same, after that, it was like something in him snapped. He no longer held my hand, or kissed me, or made love to me.

It felt as if that plane crash had stolen more than just his parents. It was as if it had stolen his soul. He never looked at anyone the same, that constant scowl was rubbed off; he hardly ever showed emotions anymore. He didn't even cry at the funeral, he just stared blankly.

What I missed the most; was that he never smiled anymore, after that day. I swore to be the one to pull him together once again, and to be his pillar of support and strength, for I loved him. I knew there and then that I loved him with all my being. I loved _Abarai Renji._

He had inherited all of his parent's money, with him being of age. Life was not that hard, I finally told my dad I was gay, and he lovingly hugged me and told me that he would still stick to his words, and he was, and would always be proud of me. I told Shiro that I had finally found the right guy, the one who held my heart. Shiro was unsure, but still gave me his blessings.

Shiro was the smarter one of us; he was the kind of guy you would go to when you needed advice. He was my identical twin, and he had albino white hair. However, he was reckless too; he had associated himself with gang members, and whenever he was not home, he would be drinking with them. Like me, his grades were only slightly better, and he got into a mediocre college.

* * *

When you love someone, you would do anything for him, just to see him smile. I thought that was how love was supposed to be; so when Renji came home one day, and slapped me across the face, I looked at him, and for the first time in months, he smiled. My heart fluttered at the sight of him smiling again, for that was what truly mattered.

The pain resonating in my left cheek was forgotten, and I put up a weak smile, as he raised a hand to my face once again. I _loved _him; and if this was the price to pay just to see him smile, the so be it.

* * *

Weeks after weeks, I put up with him. Everyday he would start hitting me more often, and with different objects. He once used a baseball bat, that left my body covered in shades of deep purple and blue.

Then he would start calling me names like 'bitch, whore and slut.' I never knew why, but I never dared ask. An extra word out of line would mean a smack to the face. He made me feel pathetic, unwanted and useless by locking me in my room for days, without food, just a bottle of water to get by.

After awhile I learnt how to conserve that bottle, and I got used to the treatment. When the days were up, he would start hitting me again, with that grin on his face.

I felt loved by him, because I was the reason he smiled. Then one day he told me he would be away for three days, and he left me at home. I went into his room; I _missed_ him; his touch, his smell, his smile. It was then that I looked at myself for the first time since this all began. I was always locked in my room, without a mirror, and I never really got a look at my whole body.

The body that I once held pride in, my vibrant orange hair looked dull and lifeless, my cheekbones were protruding, and my face was sunken in. My skin lost its golden tan, and was now pale and almost translucent. I looked at my chest, Renji always forbade me from wearing shirts, "Clothes get 'n tha way when I'm hittin' ya." He said.

My collarbones were now fully visible, and you could see each one of my ribs clearly. My stomach was so caved in that my hipbones were scarily shown. My thighs and calves were stripped to the bone, and I looked like a living skeleton.

It scared me; to see myself like this. I constantly feel weak, like I just had run a marathon, and I'm always out of breath. I sank down to my knees, panting, as my heart raced. My body was shaking, and my fingers trembled. I sat in front of the mirror, as I brought my knees up, and cried my heart out.

I never cried so much, but that day I cried; I cried for myself, for the fact that I let myself become like this. If this was what love was then I wasn't so sure I wanted love anymore. What started out as a teenage crush turned into this, I only had myself to blame. It was my fault. Always would be my fault.

* * *

When he came home, and found me curled up into a ball by the mirror, he comforted me by kicking me in the gut. "I'm home, bitch. Why tha hell're ya in my room?" He shouted, and I flinched, too weak to react fast enough, he threw me onto his bed. "Well, no matter, 'm horny an' ya better do somethin' bout it."

I braced myself for some more hits, but the impact never came. He pulled down my boxers and thrust into me, _dry_. I screamed and screamed, until my throat was dry and bleeding, but he just laughed. After he was done with me, he gave me one final kick and threw me out of his bedroom.

As I lay there, I remembered how he was the first time he made love me to; he would whisper sweet nothings into my ear. I remembered I told him that it hurt, and he massaged my pain away. After that, I remembered how he kissed me, and held my hand as we fell asleep.

* * *

The next day I worked up enough courage to ask him if he loved me, and he just grunted, "Don't be stupid."

"Don't be stupid"

Those words echoed in my mind for the next few days.

Then _I_ snapped. I could not tolerate this anymore. My body was at its limits. Every nerve, every sense in my body was screaming at me to leave him. _To leave this abusive relationship._

I knew it was futile, hardly anyone cared enough anymore, and even my dad and Shiro were too busy with their lives. Where could I go?

I put away that thought, a part of me wishing to stay; because I hoped and prayed, that he would change. That he would come to his senses and remember how we used to love. I still loved him, and I believed in him.

I was torn between the two. To leave or to stay? I knew I had a much better chance surviving if I left, but deep down, in my heart, I loved him; and love was selfless.

Then again, I had my doubts about love. What was love? If love meant allowing your lover to hit you, to abuse you, to _rape_ you, then I wasn't so sure about loving someone anymore.

He came home late, one day, smelling of alcohol and perfume. Under the dim moonlight I saw what looked like love bites on his neck, lipstick stains on his white shirt, which was missing a few buttons. Fear struck me, as I whispered into the night, "Do you still love me?"

My reply was a laugh, as he sauntered his way to his room, and he said, over his shoulder, those words that etched itself into my mind, "What do you think?"

What do I think? I had hoped for him to say he loved me, but I guess I understand his true intentions when he said, "The difference between friendship and love is how much you can hurt each other."

* * *

That night I packed what little I had, and pulled on some jeans and a long sleeved sweater to hide my pathetic body, and walked out of the door.

I left him a note on the counter, and it read:

_Dear Renji,_

_I love you. _

_Words cannot comprehend how much I felt for you, those days when I was in high school were the best of my life, and you were my world. When your parents passed, I swore to myself to fix you, and when you hit me the first time, I convinced that you did it because you loved me. _

_I could list the things that I love about you, but it would be too long. Know this, I left you because I have finally realized something. I've realized that in all these years of loving you, so selflessly, I've forgotten to love myself. _

_I'm sorry, Renji. I had so much hope that you would change, even after all this while, I tolerated it, because I believed in you. When you took me that night, and I screamed for all I was worth, did you hear me? Why didn't you stop?_

_I thought you loved me. _

_I guess love works in funny ways, huh. _

_I hope that after you read this, you will find someone that you truly love, and I hope that you will smile again; smile not because of the hurt you cause someone, but I hope that you learn how to smile because of love. _

_The Renji I knew was a fighter. He was always angry, but never held grudges. He never raised a hand to someone who couldn't defend themselves. What changed? I miss you, Renji. I hope you remember the happiness you once felt, the laughter that used to fill my heart._

_Goodbye, Renji._

_I love you._

_Ichigo._

* * *

I probably didn't even make sense in that letter, but I had hopes it would wake him up. As I stepped onto the pavement that led to the road, I felt broken, like a flower that had all its petals plucked out, you couldn't stick it back no matter what, and the flower would just wilt and die.

"Ichigo?"

I looked up from the ground I was staring at, and into eyes that gazed into my soul. "Shinji." I said, but it was barely a whisper. Those brown eyes stared at me, brows furrowed in concern as the cool breeze blew his jaw-length blonde hair.

Shinji grew up with me, he was my next-door-neighbor, and like all cartoons, your neighbors always turn out to be your best friends. I would always play soccer with him, and we had everything in common. He came from an average household, but when his father struck it rich in whatever shady business he was doing, they moved away, to the "rich man's district" as I had labeled it.

We lost contact after awhile, and life went on. But now he was standing in front of me, ten years later. His hair was still styled the same way, which I guess was how I recognized him.

He let me stay at his house, without questions. He could see the pain in my eyes, but never questioned me about it unless I willingly told him. He knew when to keep his distance, and I appreciated that about him. After all, he was one of my closest and best friends.

* * *

Years passed and I was now 21, pushing the past events far behind me, Shinji was a year older, and I was at the famous club, "The Hollow", It had a weird name, but the alcohol was served by one of the most talented, and hottest bartenders I know, Toshiro Hitsugaya.

"Looking sexy as ever, Shiro." I winked at him, as he sighed in frustration. "Will you stop that, you say that every time you come in here. Now what do you want? The usual?" He said, handing me a shot of vodka. Drinking was my favourite past time now, and Shinji would always join me with his friends, Kensei Muguruma and Hiyori Sarugaki.

Kensei has short silver hair and brown eyes. His hair always shone in the light, and I had lovingly nicknamed him "Unicorn". I loved the look of annoyance that flashed in his eyes whenever I called him that.

Hiyori is really short, and has blonde spiky ponytails, and has a really short temper. Oh, how I just love poking at her with lame puns, and watching her eyebrow twitch.

"Shiro-chan, another shot please."

"Do not call me that!" Toshiro shouted over the booming music of the club, handing me another shot of vodka. I felt the tingly sensation as the alcohol poured down my throat, making me feel warm inside.

My left pocket vibrated, and I picked up my phone.

"We've got another one." Shinji's voice was heard over the line, with a serious tone.

"So soon?" I asked, we had just finished with one case last week. It was unusual. Nevertheless, I mumbled a goodbye and left the club.

After I met Shinji, I paid a visit to my father, who sat me down for a heart-to-heart conversation. He told me that he felt I was old enough to understand the type of business he dealt with, and he told me that he was the leader of a gang. It was called the Visoreds. Of course I was shocked, but I remained calm and he continued; he told me that my mother's death was because of a dispute with a rival gang, the Shinigami.

The Shinigami had set fire to one of the rival gang member's cars, and it drove straight into my mom's, which caused both to explode. My mom did not know about my father's line of work, and was coincidentally driving past the secluded road.

My father believes that it is his fault, and so he left the leadership role of the gang to his friend, Urahara Kisuke; but now that I had come of age, he felt that I should be the one to take the lead.

I asked him, why not Shiro? He was smarter. But my father just shook his head and said that Shiro was not meant for the role, he just lacked that leadership in him, much like a king and a horse, but I really couldn't be bothered to listen.

* * *

So here I am, age 21, leader of the Visoreds. We, the Visoreds, are an organization that specializes in stealing. Since passing the leadership role to me, my father trained me in the art of robbery. However, we do get the occasional call for help, from the rich aristocrats, who are willing to pay millions, just for us to rescue their loved ones.

Being famous and rich, those are the kind of people that gang's would target, and usually their spouses, children or even siblings would be targeted, and kidnapped for ransom. In some cases the victim would be released, unharmed; but usually the victim dies and the kidnappers get their money anyway.

This is why they turn to us for help, because our "rescue missions" have a 99% success rate.

I was on my way back to the gang's new hideout, somewhere near my old school, in an abandoned storehouse.

Looking at my school building, with the teenagers, who had probably just hit puberty, I remembered myself, in their shoes. I remembered not knowing the world, unaware of the cruelties and harshness of the "night life".

I was so much happier then, but if I had a chance to relive my life, I would've probably done everything the same. I liked where I was now, this life was interesting and full of mysteries, but it dabbled onto the "dark" side of life, where gang fights and deaths occurred almost on a daily basis.

I pulled out a cigarette and lit it, taking in a huge breath of smoke. Renji used to smoke, and the house always smelled of tobacco, and alcohol. After his parents' death, he made it a habit to go to a bar every other night, and sometimes he even came home with women. I never dared to go near his room then, I would secure myself away in the darkness of my room.

I then realized what he meant when he said I was _his. _He didn't think of me as a person then, I was just another toy, one that he could break again and again. I cannot remember the times he raped me dry, but it happened so much that I didn't cry or scream anymore, just whimpered in pain.

Sometimes I get the privilege to pass out and wake up feeling sore, but other times I had to live through every breathing moment as he slammed himself into me, every second was excruciating, and I had contemplated suicide multiple times.

I have gained something out of this experience though, and I am glad. I learned how to love myself. Loving yourself does not mean worshipping yourself, it just meant that you knew how much you were worth, and as long as you had pride in that, nothing could hurt you.

"Yo, Ichi, you there?" Shinji called as he snapped his fingers in my face. I blinked twice, and nodded. He then briefly told me what the new case was about, apparently the wife of the owner of the biggest drug dealing "organization" as he so lovingly dubbed; was kidnapped late last night.

The woman, named Rangiku Matsumoto, wife of Gin Ichimaru, was abducted outside of a club, just outside the borders of Espada territory. The Espada were notorious for doing anything to get money. Led by Aizen Sosuke, they had a "special" group of trained assassins, the Primera, Cuarta and Sexta. Their real names were Coyote Starrk, Ulquiorra Schiffer and Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez. It is said that crossing paths with them would mean death, and not one of their targets actually survived.

As for Gin, he is the leader of Soul Society, an underground drug-dealing den, don't ask me why a drug dealer chose such a retarded name, I think he was probably high as fuck. Crazily rich and protected, the smart ones always chose to target his weakness, his beloved wife.

Ichimaru had provided us with some information, and Mrs. Ichimaru was last seen driving through Espada territory. No doubt that Aizen has her, as Ichimaru received a phone call from a protected number, asking for a ridiculously large amount of money; 100 million to be exact. The deadline was in three hours, which gave us barely enough time to work on a game plan.

Such missions are usually rejected, with little time and resources; it would mean death for us Visoreds to tread into their territory. I told Shinji to reject them, but he had persuaded me otherwise. Our reward was 50 million, half of the ransom amount, but more than enough to supply my men with good weapons and equipment.

Sighing, I accepted it, much to Shinji's delight. Turns out, Shinji had already prepared the necessary equipment to hack into their camera system way beforehand.

Using the cameras, we located Mrs. Ichimaru, who was held in a room at the back of their hideout. There were about fifteen guards walking around, and one strikingly blue-haired man, the Sexta. This mission was not going to be easy.

* * *

Two hours and fifteen minutes left, I found myself standing outside their hideout, which was smack dab in the middle of the 'red-light district'. Naturally, I had the perfect disguise, although much to my dismay, I had grudgingly agreed to dress as a male hooker.

Tight leather pants that showed my ass, and a fitted black shirt. No need to stand out with colors, my hair already did that for me. Looking almost neon orange under the lights, it was sure to catch the attention of many.

Just on time, with two hours left, the Sexta appeared, and I gasped. He was taller than me by a little, but had a killer body. With no shirt on, just jeans, he ran a hand through his teal hair, and was walking in to their hideout. He caught me staring at him, and smirked inwardly as he approached me the same way a tiger approaches his prey.

Stalking towards me every so slowly, I gulped, those teal orbs gazing into me, as I shoved my hands into my pocket. I took in a deep breath, and took a step towards him.

"Hey carrot-top, what's yer name?' Grimmjow's eyes smoldered with lust as he put a hand around my waist. "I-Ichigo'" I stammered, mentally slapping myself. Did I just give away my name? God I was so stupid.

"Strawberry, eh? Yer a cute one. Wonder if ya taste like strawberries too." Grimmjow trailed a finger down my neck, teasing me. "Why don't you find out?" I said, somehow regaining my composure, as I grabbed his hand and pulled him along, into a secluded corner of the hideout, just below where Kensei was hiding.

Seeing that I had distracted the Sexta, Kensei quickly made his way to the fifteen guards outside the room. Taking them out was no big issue, they were big and buff, but were slow in attacks. Kensei was quick and took them out rather silently, proceeding to pick the lock. Shinji was communicating to each one of us, helping us along the way and alerting us of guards.

Meanwhile Grimmjow slammed me into the concrete wall, as he rubbed a thigh in between my legs. He pulled me in for a kiss, our tongues fought for control as he slid a hand up my shirt. Silently thanking my dad for teaching me not only the art of robbery, but the art of seduction as well. I gripped his erection through the fabric of his pants; hard, and he moaned.

"God, yer so dirty, Strawberry." He groaned into my ear, as I smirked. Men were all the same, get them turned on and riled up enough and you can manipulate them easy enough. I raised a hand and jabbed his shoulder, effectively knocking him out. Time to move out, I told myself as I caught up to where Kensei was, more of Aizen's men had arrived and we were now faced with a very confused Mrs. Ichimaru and about twenty men.

I ducked as one threw a punch towards me, and kicked him right in the groin. Blocking a punch from my left, I punched him in the gut, and quickly untied the woman from the metal chair. Assuring her that everything was under control, I roundhouse kicked a scrawny man in the face, and grabbing hold of the metal pipe he held.

I pulled the woman along with me, and passed her to Kensei, who had already cleared a path and was running towards the black sedan waiting for us. I followed behind, not too far as I took out the last five men swiftly, whacking them each on the head, effectively knocking them out.

Jumping into the sleek black car, I rest my head against the leather cushion as we sped away.

"Tell Gin that it was successful. Now I want my money." I said, as Hiyori swerved the car a few times, drifting here and there. Aizen's men were still chasing us, but once we entered out territory they knew enough to back away, I had about fifty men waiting for us, armed with guns.

True to his word, I received my money in cold, hard cash, and Gin had his wife back. I didn't really care for how my clients got their money, as long as I get mine. Drug dealing was not a pretty business; neither was it 'clean'. It had its own share of blood and killings, but then again, that was the way it worked. It _was_ a dog-eat-dog world, after all.

* * *

Grimmjow was furious. He had _never_ been humiliated like that. His men found him passed out, with a 'V' etched into his chest with a red sharpie. He woke up angry, and very much embarrassed. He swore to take down the Visoreds; and _to claim Ichigo._

I rest my head against the softness of my bed. Sure, my life was not easy now, but I was satisfied with what I had now, after that day, when I left Renji, I swore to _never_ fall in love again. So why, why was I still tingling from that kiss? That blue-haired bastard.

I don't think I'll ever understand true love.

* * *

**A/N: How was it? I finished this story at 3.45am, so I'm terribly sorry if there are grammar mistakes. There wont be sex till…. a few chapters later. I hope I've explained everything clearly; if there are some parts that you guys think is not explained enough, please tell me! Thanks so much for reading! :***


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Chapter Two is finally here! I was having some difficulty thinking of an interesting plot, but I've figured it out. **** I hope this chapter is written to all of your expectations!**

**Special thanks to MMagnet, and Misc. Ink for giving me helpful pointers on how to keep improving; it really made my day to see reviews like yours. **** And to the rest that reviewed, thanks so much!**

**The next few chapters, for this story and for Hold My Hand, will be delayed, but I promise to keep updating it; so I apologize in advance for the long wait! School's going to start soon, and I'm at my most crucial year, so I hope you guys understand! **

_**This chapter follows the life of Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez, and starts from his early teenage years up till the day he met Ichigo.**_

* * *

**Chapter Two**

Grimmjow tossed and turned in bed, letting out a huge sigh. He was extremely exhausted and pushed to his limits. He hadn't slept in more than a day, as he was constantly being pushed around to do Aizen's work. Who gave a fuck about that asshole, anyway?

Aizen loved making a fool out of the Sexta, and made him carry out the most ridiculous orders, like making him go grocery shopping when he ran out of his favorite White Jasmine Tea; or asking him to "scare" away unwanted guests that disturbed their territory. Seriously though, why couldn't Aizen just ask his other lower ranked subordinates to do the dirty work?

"You've got that look that makes people shit their pants." Would be his excuse, but that was fairly acceptable- it was true anyway; Grimmjow smirked to himself. He would never understand why Aizen chose to drink tea; he was a fucking gang leader for Christ's sake!

Grimmjow laughed tiredly to himself as he leaned into the soft, sky blue pillows; a gang leader that sips tea and has tea parties, huh. Now _that_ was funny; he thought, as he mentally praised himself.

He closed his eyes and tried to get some sleep, as he snuggled further into the blanket. His body instantly relaxed at the sensation, and he fell into a deep slumber.

* * *

_Grimm-! Don't come here, please… You… You have to- _

_Run…_

Grimmjow gripped the sheets tightly, as his knuckles turned white. His eyes were squeezed shut, as his teeth clenched; he let out a soft whimper.

_Where tha fuck do ya think yer goin'? _

'_m not done with ya…_

_Not yet…_

* * *

Cold sweat dripped from his forehead, down to his neck, as he kicked his blanket off. His body twisted and turned, his face scrunched up in pain as he gripped at his chest, clawing the singlet he wore.

"N-No please! It h- hurts-" He was crying now, salty tears stained the bed sheets as he let out a scream.

The Sexta sprung out of bed, eyes widened in complete and utter terror. His heart was racing, his chest rising and falling rapidly as he took in short breaths of air. Tears kept streaming down his face, and he hadn't even realized he was crying till it made a huge damp patch on his singlet.

Hastily wiping his face, he attempted to calm himself down, and rocked himself back and forth as he hummed a tune.

It happened once or twice, happening on random occasions, usually when he was especially tired or emotionally stressed.

Grimmjow knew enough from his past sessions with his therapist, what nightmares were.

Nightmares were the usual response to unacceptable, unresolved levels of stress and fear. It was to convey a message and help clear up the conflict in life. Family members were the most destructive influences on a person's life. Nightmares, as such, were the signs of inner turmoil.

It's been so long, since the last time he had _that_ dream. His therapist had told him, that the only way to prevent them from haunting him again was to release that painful memory, to first clear his own self of blame, and then set it free.

How could he set it free if it was his fault? How could he possibly clear the blame just like that? It may have happened ten years ago, but it still shadowed him, and haunted him to this day.

* * *

_**Ten years ago, July 31**__**st**__**, 2002. **_

Since the age of thirteen, starting from when Grimmjow had just gone through puberty, he started to question his sexual orientation.

His first kiss was lost to a girl, one named Orihime Inoue. He admitted that she was the one who initiated it, and this proved to further confirm his beliefs. She was what every "straight" boy in school desired.

Long, luscious hair, a pretty face and huge eyes; not to mention a perfect set of assets to compliment her curvy figure, getting kissed by her was every man's dream.

However, when he felt those lips on his, it was the realization that he felt so very uncomfortable at the sensation, and the lack of butterflies in his stomach, that felt like his body was shouting to him, "Dude, you're 100% gay."

His guy friends always asked him how he was able to look at her straight in the face without even a sneak peak at her chest. He found that he was more interested in a guy's ass than a woman's chest.

* * *

Today, at fourteen years of age, he, after one whole year of pondering, came to the confirmation that he was, indeed, gay. It was not "just a phase", nor did it pass, it was real, and he was scared. He had decided to keep it a secret, fearing for his own self, should his father come to know of this.

His father was lost high up in the dark and shady "night life" of Karakura, often coming home when the sun began to rise, and left when the sun had set. His "job" rendered him never being at home for more than enough time for him to sleep.

When he wasn't sleeping, he was yelling and cursing. Just as Grimmjow turned out to be, his father was an arrogant, loud and rude bastard. Never paying attention to his wife, but expected her to stay loyal nonetheless.

Once when Grimmjow defended his mother when the bastard called her a "useless whore", he found himself limping for the next two weeks, as his father had kicked him to hard it fractured his kneecap.

His father absolutely hated homosexuals, and everyday that he lived, was a constant reminder of that. Grimmjow sat in silence as his father went on and on about the wrongs of being gay, and had warned him that if his son every turned out gay he would kill him.

Grimmjow decided not to test the waters for this one; his father was, as much of a bastard, a man who kept his word. Everything he said, he said it with a dangerous tone lingering around it.

He never learnt his lesson though; time and time again Grimmjow found himself neck to neck with his father, both cursing each other into the depths of hell. Most of the time, his father would turn out the victor, as he saw violence as a means of solving problems.

This, obviously, landed Grimmjow in the hospital a couple of times, when his father had "forgotten" he was holding a cigar, and it had burned through the flesh of the poor boys forearm, or when the knife "slid" from his hands when he was cooking, and left a nasty gash across his thigh.

Such poor excuses were just made up to save his father's own sorry ass from being accused of child abuse. Of course, his father paid the hospital bills, but made sure to force his son to "work" for him to pay it off.

* * *

"Work" meant scouring dark alleys at night, and beating up people that owed money. A black shirt with jeans, slip on shoes and a fitted cap was the usual attire, sometimes complimented with a gun and silencer, or what Grimmjow preferred to use; an army knife that had a midnight blue handle, with jagged edges.

He had so lovingly dubbed it "Pantera", as the steel blade shone in the night, and it held the grace and elegance of a feline, and how it was so beautifully deadly. It was midnight blue, a somewhat soothing color, ironic, considering its purpose.

Playing with the knife in his hands, over time he had mastered the art of throwing it, and he almost always hit his targets. One single throw was lethal, a single blade delivered the fatal blow, and it outmatched any gun.

The downside was, he had to retrieve it after every throw, so he made it a point to invest in smaller daggers that he kept hidden, saving Pantera for those who really sparked his interest in killing.

* * *

His mother was the absolute opposite of his father. Quiet, soft-spoken and timid, she was a petite woman. However, over the years, she had picked up drinking, and was usually drunk or hung-over, come to think of it, Grimmjow never really saw his mother completely sober, without some form of alcohol in her system.

He guessed her reason for drinking was to escape the harshness of her life, her own parents sold her off to "pay a debt", and ended up marrying this bastard and having his child, she lived a hard life.

She hardly ever stayed home, she was always out and looking for men to satisfy her "needs". His father was never home to stop her, and what could Grimmjow do? He was just a mere kid.

She had changed, from the once quiet and naïve woman, to the outrageous and obnoxious bitch she is today. She's always hanging around men ten years younger than her, and sometimes to the extent of bringing them home.

Grimmjow never once said anything, he just let it be.

* * *

He was made to live this lifestyle for the next three years of his life, up till he was seventeen. On his seventeenth birthday, July 31st, he was at home, and his mother was preparing dinner, the only time she was cooking was on his birthday.

The sweet aroma of sugar and vanilla wafted around in the air, his mother was baking a cake. As much as she slept around and drank, she loved her son very much, and that was why the only day she never drank was on Grimmjow's birthday.

Grimmjow was lounging in bed, the light flickering above him, as he heard the sounds of two cats fighting outside. A loud bang was heard, which he recognized as a car door slamming. His father was home.

The key turned with a click, as the door unlocked. His father stumbled into the house, the stench of hard liquor and tobacco instantly filled Grimmjow's lungs as he walked out to greet his father.

He stopped in his tracks, instantly taking in the blood soaked shirt his father had on. "D-Do you need the first aid kit?" he stammered, his father had a different look in his eyes today; something seemed off.

Grunting something along the lines of "Not my blood", he watched his father step into the kitchen, his mother having no reaction to his appearance.

His father pulled out a slip of paper from his pocket, and as he unfolded the crinkled, bloodstained sheet, he towered over the small woman's frame easily.

"Th- These 're legal docum'nts fr'm wh'n ya gave birth ta tha' shitface o'er there." His voice slurred, as he said, his voice void of emotion, as he turned to look at me for a brief moment, and I swore I saw a look of disgust on his face. "An' lookie 'ere, says tha' 'm not tha' fath'r."

"W-What do you mean? O-Of course you are!" His mom had said, trying her very best to convince him, but everyone knew how terrible her lying skills were.

"Don' lie ta me ya f'ckin whore!"

It happened in a blink. One minute they were just standing by the kitchen countertop, with his birthday cake and a candle on it, ready to be lit.

The next moment, the cake was smashed, the ingredients were toppled over and his mom was on her knees, with fear and hurt slapped right across her face.

Grimmjow's eyes travelled down, as he felt his legs tremble, then give in to the weight of his body. He fell forward, landing on his hands, as he took in the sight in front of him.

His mother lay on the floor; eyes open in terror, with his father grinning at him maliciously, the cake-cutting knife in his hand, and a gaping hole where his mom's heart once was.

"Grimm-! Don't come here, please… You… You have to- " She gurgled, as blood poured out of her chest, and filled her lungs, she felt her life seep through the hole, bit by bit, as it escaped her body.

"Run…"

Those were her last words, as she lay there, lifeless and unmoving.

Grimmjow scampered to his feet, as his eyes were wide in horror, his lips trembled, and his eyes stung with salty tears. His mind was horrible numb, and he backed away from his father.

"Where tha fuck do ya think yer goin'?"

His father was approaching him, and Grimmjow turned around and ran for the door, only to be pulled back by his ankle, trapped under the shoe of his father. He cried out in pain as he felt a bone crack under the pressure.

He gripped his foot in agony, as he was pulled to his feet by forceful hands. Grimmjow bit his lip, and drew blood as he fought to overcome the pain, and swinging his fist with as much strength he had, he struck his father on the temple, and Grimmjow used the chance to get away.

He limped his way to the bathroom, and barricaded the door with a chair. He pulled out his phone and dialed the cops, as he let out a sigh of relief. His body was on an adrenaline rush, and he jumped when the door was hit with such a forced it cracked the thin, cheap wood.

"'m not done with ya!"

Grimmjow braced himself as he heard the door crack, as it gave way to the force. The chair he used to barricade fell backwards, barely missing his shoulder, as his father slashed forward with his right hand, aiming the knife at Grimmjow's heart.

Silently thanking his years of work for his father, which honed his reflexes and skills, he quickly ducked and ran past his father and into his room. Grabbing Pantera, which was lying on his table, he gripped the weapon tight, as he prepared to face the man.

His father was strong, and slashing down once more, with more speed, he managed to get a deep gash across Grimmjow's chest, leaving torn bits of flesh hanging about.

Grimmjow stumbled backwards, his back hitting the wall as he realized he was cornered. He raised his weapon in defense, he only hoped the cops would hurry, because he didn't think he had it in him to actually kill his own father, as much as he hated the man.

With a shout, his father lunged at him full force, and Grimmjow shot his arm forward, and he heard a sickening sound, a squelch, and then his father coughed up blood.

"N-Not done wit' ya, not yet…"

He had stabbed his father in the chest, and the cake-cutter was barely an inch from his heart. He gasped in shock, as he realized what he just did.

"O-Oh god…" Grimmjow felt like his insides were twisted and torn apart, as he fought the urge to puke. His father was staring at him; body slumped forward, his forehead touching Grimmjow's.

His eyes were wide, pupils dilated, as he choked on his own blood. Grimmjow was pinned under him, back against the wall, as he watched with his own eyes, the final breath that his father took.

* * *

That was how the police found him, he stared in to the air, void of emotion, and his eyes were empty. He refused to talk or eat, for the next week, until they had to stick an IV up his wrist, to ensure he was alive.

He just lay in bed for the next month, refusing to speak to anyone, even lawyers and police. They had never seen someone so broken, so completely empty inside, and so _hollow_.

He would sometimes murmur in his sleep, but it was too low for anyone to decipher it, although sometimes the nurse that watched over him heard him mumble words like "Help, mom, don't die."

That just broke her heart; it pained her to see such a young boy, having to face such terrible things at a tender age like his. She always sat by him, and talked to him in the day, hoping that he was listening, and maybe respond.

He spoke his first words, after two months, the nurses at the hospital were pinning him down, after he refused to take a sedative. He had screamed out his mother's name for the first time in years, he never called them by name, and he always referred to them as bitch and bastard.

But for the first time, he called out her name. He shouted it with all the anger he had in him, with all the despair that clouded his heart.

_Rukia._

* * *

It was like he suddenly woke up from a coma, he started talking, eating and he even smiled sometimes, and he felt his old self returning to him.

His nurse was named Unohana Retsu, and she had this gentle aura around her, her presence seemed to calm him down, and her voice was soothing to the ears.

She was his first friend that he made after the incident, and he would talk to her everyday. He trusted her enough to tell her he was gay, and that made her the first to know.

He was initially afraid she would be repelled by it, and find him disgusting, but she had taken it well, ruffling his hair and winking at him, saying that she had met some cute boys in the room opposite, and could introduce him.

Grimmjow never felt himself blush so red because of a woman before.

Those three months at the hospital flew by, and he soon recovered.

* * *

He was discharged, and gave Unohana his number to keep in touch. He waved her a final goodbye, and walked out those doors, feeling like a bird finally stretching its wings after being locked in a cage for years.

He stayed at a temporary home provided by the police, just enough for one person, maybe two. It was for him to use until he had a stable paying job.

The next weeks went by at an agonizingly slow pace, the police constantly hounding him for interrogation, did they honestly think a seventeen-year-old boy was capable of murder of his own parents?

The case was soon closed, when the autopsy reports came in, the evidence of traces of marijuana, cocaine and vodka in his father's system, barely an hour before the incident.

That was why his father had that stoned, emotionless look. He was high on drugs, and alcohol further worsened the effects. His emotions were heightened, which caused him to overreact so much. His mind was jumbled, and he probably couldn't even think straight, anger meant rage, and that led him to kill without much thought.

Grimmjow was not charged, and it was proven that he had acted in pure self-defense. His acts were justified, and thus proven innocent and a victim.

The legal documents were, in fact, very much true. Grimmjow's father, as he had known since birth, was not his biological father. His mom slept around too much, and he was the son born from an affair.

He chose to not pursue the matter, he didn't really care who his "real" father was, and to him any man that raised him was just as good enough of a father.

* * *

It was mid June, year 2008, Grimmjow was eighteen when the court case was finally closed and left to rest. Grimmjow had gone through countless sessions of therapy, and they deemed him "mentally fit'' enough to be placed back into society.

Since he was insistent on living alone than with adoptive parents, they allowed him to rent a room, but made sure to check on him regularly.

His life went on, and he pushed the past behind him, refusing to even think about it. He took up a part time job at the bar, "The Hollow", with an average paying salary, but tons of cute guys on a daily basis. And there was where he met his first guy friend, Ulquiorra Schiffer.

His dirty past with his father's gang had earned him a reputation, and it was not like there were a lot of blue-haired men going around beating the shit out of people.

Ulquiorra had taken a liking to him instantly, although he didn't show it, he liked Grimmjow, and they became best friends. Ulquiorra was an Espada, meaning he served under the leader, Yammy Llargo.

Yammy recognized the boy's potential fighting skills, and fast reflexes, as well as his blood lust, which grew and grew over time. Yammy had him trained under Ulquiorra, and he eventually rose up the ranks to become the Sexta.

Ulquiorra taught Grimmjow some basin knowledge about gangs, and that was that there were three rules. Obey your boss. Kill with no mercy. And the last was to void yourself of all emotions when on "duty".

Which basically meant that if Yammy ordered someone to kill their wife or child, they were to do so, or they would have all died.

Grimmjow killed and killed, staining his hands with the blood of many. He realized that the more he killed, the lesser nightmares he had. The bloodlust and adrenaline served as a drug, to rid him of those nights he spent waking up screaming.

He continued his uncontrollable urge to kill, and Yammy was more than happy to send him out on missions to eliminate any potential threats.

Yammy prized the three assassins, Ulquiorra Schiffer, Coyote Starrk, and Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez. Ulquiorra specialized in sniper rifles, Starrk preferred to sleep, but when you annoyed him enough, he was found to be good with hand-to-hand combat, but was just as good with swords, and long objects of the like. Grimmjow retained his passion for knives and daggers, as he still kept Pantera.

Then came along the mysterious Aizen Sosuke, who single handedly brought down Yammy Llargo. You could challenge for the title of leadership, and in the Espada, the rule was that you fight the current leader one-on-one and no one was allowed to interfere.

The only weapons allowed were metal pipes. Thus, it was a difficult match, and with Yammy's 300-kilogram body mass, it was an even tougher battle. However, when it came down to Aizen, it was on a whole new level.

Aizen was formerly a Shinigami, the rival gang of the Espada, and he left, choosing to try his luck with the leadership title of the Espada.

The battle was short, Aizen having thrust his hand so far into Yammy's neck it almost decapitated it. After that, Aizen turned around and he spotted the widest smile he had ever seen on the man, with a look in his eyes so crazed, it was the most gruesome, sick, and disgustingly splendid death Grimmjow had ever seen.

Right then and there, he decided to serve Aizen. No one could make him grin so feral as he did when Yammy died. Sure, Yammy was good, but Aizen seemed to share the same bloodlust, that passion for killing.

It was like he saw himself in that man.

* * *

_**Current day, 7 October 2012**_

Grimmjow washed his face with ice-cold water, the iciness instantly shocking him. He wiped his face dry and placed two hands by the sink, leaning forward and looking at himself in the mirror.

His face has gotten paler, as the shadows under his eyes worsened. His hair seemed to have lost its "life", and was just dull and flat.

The nightmares were even more often now, he had already experienced it three times this month, more than his body was willing to handle, it seemed. He found himself losing his appetite, getting sick easily, and emotional.

He had just finished a kill order from Aizen, to take out some guy called Shusuke Amagai or something of that sort. It was a clean kill, a dagger to the heart, and it hadn't stained Grimmjow's clothes, thankfully.

The initial adrenaline rush from the kill had calmed him down a little, but it did little to suppress the inner war he was having with himself.

He felt like it was his fault, that his mother got killed. If only he wasn't born, then maybe things would have been better for his mother. There was nothing he could do now; she was dead, as was his father.

That guilt constantly followed Grimmjow everywhere, it tailed him like a shadow, but felt like a thousand pound sack he had to shoulder everywhere he went. The bloodlust was like cutting a hole in that sack, and letting the weight just empty itself out.

Sometimes he didn't understand himself, if he blamed himself for their deaths, why was he killing other people? Because they deserved it, they're not exactly good people, they are gang members, drug dealers, they all deserved to go to hell.

Then again, he'd argue with his self, he was a gang member too. What difference did it make? He was just as impure; he deserved hell just as much as the rest.

Sighing, he slumped onto the couch, dialing a number; he raised the phone to his ear.

"Grimmjow?"

Ulquiorra was curious as to why Grimmjow was calling at one in the morning.

"Meet me at the bar, I'm bored."

Grimmjow yawned into the phone.

"Sure. Be there in fifteen minutes."

Grimmjow stood up and walked to the mirror, deciding what to wear. He fingered the gothic black number 6 on his lower back, the tattoo that Aizen had made the three assassins get, just last week.

He was the Sexta, thus the number six. He didn't mind though, it was cool. Starrk, however, made protests about being "labeled" and how he didn't want to be "owned" by someone. He was fine with it after the tattoo artist guaranteed he could get a two-hour nap in the armchair while he got the tattoo done.

Grimmjow unlocked his phone and typed a brief text, "Bring Starrk along too, you ask him."

His phone beeped, and it read "K. be there in half an hour."

He laughed, Starrk was just about as lazy as a sloth, he loved sleeping, anywhere and anytime. He preferred to stay home, and rarely went out… except when Ulquiorra was the one who asked.

Those emotionless eyes tha he had, and how he never smiles for anyone, Ulquiorra was the epitome of death itself. Starrk could never refuse Ulquiorra, not that he liked him, but there was once he said no, and there was a bullet hole in the wall, a centimeter from Starrk's head.

Starrk decided today was not the day to say no, and he grudgingly agreed. Ulquiorra meant him no harm; he knew that, it was just scary how his face was so emotionless. Starrk shuddered at the thought.

Half an hour later, they found themselves sitting at the bar, The Hollow, Grimmjow having gotten a day off today, since he worked his ass off the past week.

Toshiro gave them the usual, and chatted with them for a bit. Toshiro Hitsugaya, he was a short, white haired boy, with a constant scowl on his face. Don't ever call him short, or you'll be kissing the floor.

Grimmjow laughed at one of Starrk's jokes, and caught a glimpse of orange in the crowd.

_Orange._

That's right! That asshole that humiliated him, Grimmjow felt his face heat up in anger as he remembered how Ulquiorra had found him, passed out with a hickey on his neck, courtesy of carrot top.

Not to mention the very striking bright red 'V' on his chest. He swore he saw Ulquiorra's lips twitch, as if trying to hold back a smile. His eyes even lit up a little.

Grimmjow was out for that boy; he was going to claim him.

"Yo, Grimm, you alive?" Slender fingers snapped in his face, and Grimmjow blinked a couple of times.

"Yeah. What?"

"Nothing, you looked out of it." Toshiro said, as he went to make another drink for a customer.

Starrk had gone off to nap in the corner, Grimmjow rolled his eyes at that, and another hot male, with white hair, that looked familiar, was hitting on Ulquiorra.

Too familiar.

Grimmjow pushed that thought aside for now, and he got out of his seat and finished his drink in a gulp. He looked around and saw that flash of orange again, and followed it.

Pushing his way through the crowd, he found the strawberry dancing alone, and Grimmjow took the chance to grind himself onto the boy. He heard a yelp, then the boy turned around, and jumped away in shock.

"Miss me, berry?"

Grimmjow grinned feral, as he placed an arm around Ichigo once more, dragging him off to a secluded area. The berry quirked an eyebrow, and looked at him questioningly.

"What's with that look?" Ichigo asked Grimmjow, as he continued to smile at the boy, dangerously.

"Nothin' " Grimmjow murmured, pulling the berry in for a kiss. Ichigo gasped, and Grimmjow's tongue traced his lips. Ichigo moaned, and pulled away, kissing the same spot he had left a hickey on, the last time.

Grimmjow growled, low in his throat, as he felt Ichigo suck at the tender spot, and as he bit down, hard enough to draw blood. Grimmjow shoved the boy off, as he yelled at him.

"What tha fucks wrong wit' ya!" He growled, wincing as it stung when he touched his shoulder.

"Heh. It looks good on you." Ichigo teased, as he turned around, giving the Sexta a good view of his ass. "Bye, Kitten."

The orange head disappeared into the crowd once more, leaving just as quickly as he had found him. Grimmjow pulled his shirt up a little, hoping to cover the mark, so Starrk won't laugh at him.

He already felt so humiliated, since when was Ichigo the seme?! No freaking way.

Wait. Did that strawberry call him "Kitten"?

Oh no. Oh. No. He was not going to get away with that. Grimmjow licked his lips; he was going to teach the boy a lesson he will never forget. Nobody calls Grimmjow a kitten.

* * *

**A/N: Done! I focused this chapter more on Grimmjow; I actually had to do some research on how nightmares were caused and such. It was interesting! And I hope you all enjoyed reading it as much as I did writing! Thank you all for reading and reviewing! :* I'm not sure when the next chapter will be up, I've been really busy, so it will take longer to get a good quality chapter written out, so please be patient with me! **


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